The Body Electrocution: Bobbi Sue Baxter Mysteries, #2

By Marissa Shrock

Bobbi Sue Baxter has a serious choice to make because both love and murder are on the line.

 

The summer of 1988 is possibly one of love, and that's the problem. Aspiring journalist Bobbi Sue Baxter has feelings for a man who's engaged. But then again, he seems to return the vibe. Adding more mud to the already unclear waters, his fiancée might be involved in a murder that happened in the building where Bobbi Sue was taking an aerobics class. So should Bobbi Sue get involved?

 

That's a definite yes.

 

Not with Hemi Miller—the flutters-in-the-stomach producing guy—but with the investigation of his fiancée, who screamed at Hemi's ex-girlfriend to stay away. Because that ex-girlfriend wound up electrocuted in the community center locker room the next day.

 

So Bobbi Sue starts asking questions. What she discovers is a tapestry of intrigue—a secret love decades past, the supposed ghost of a custodian that stalks the community center halls, and a motive for murder that neither Bobbi Sue nor anyone else in town saw coming.

 

Return to Wildcat Springs, Indiana, for a Bobbi Sue Baxter tale even more riveting than the first!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cimelia Press
• Release date: Apr 26, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215117828

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

JUNE 1988

Don’t look now, Bobbi Sue, but Hemi Miller and his fiancée just walked in. Misty Ambrose perched on her usual barstool next to mine at Tate’s Place.

You say that like he’s a big deal. Staring straight ahead, I swirled the ice in my glass and tapped my foot along with Def Leppard while Pour Some Sugar on Me played on the juke box.

You have feelings for him, so don’t even try to tell me he isn’t, she whispered and tossed her curly red hair over her shoulder.

He isn’t.

I don’t believe you.

Suit yourself.

My life had been hectic lately, and I could’ve used a quiet night at home reading. Instead, Misty had convinced me to join her at the local bar, which was the most exciting place to be on a Friday night in our hometown.

That wasn’t saying much.

She stuck out her lip and glanced toward Hemi and Leslie. She’s not as pretty as you, she whispered.

Get real. I emitted a wry laugh. You’re carrying the supportive friend act a little too far, don’t you think?

Leslie’s feathery blond hair and innocent looking brown eyes were a much more compelling combination than my blue-gray eyes and shoulder-length brown hair. I was attractive and skinny enough, though my ears were too big for my liking, but it was fair to say I wouldn’t be entering next year’s Soybean Queen Pageant.

For so many reasons.

She looks like an airhead, Misty said. And before you can say it, I know. It takes one to know one.

Misty loved playing the role of bimbette—but I knew better than to buy it. Wasn’t going to. I drained my Coke.

But you were thinking it.

Actually, I was thinking I should’ve stayed home and read a book. I slammed my glass against the bar. Kurt, may I please have a refill?

Kurt Conway had a smile that made most women forget his short stature, including Misty, who frequently used the lame excuse that she was keeping Kurt company while he worked.

He glanced at Misty in her short denim skirt and swiped up my glass. Sure you don’t want something stronger?

No thank you.

She’s pretending she doesn’t care about Hemi Miller. Misty sipped her beer.

I don’t need to pretend. He’s off the market, we’re just friends, and I was never looking in the first place.

I’d started my final summer in Wildcat Springs, Indiana, working in his mother Amanda’s bookstore. But my life had become complicated, and Amanda had fired me, mostly because she’d sensed—correctly—that her son was getting too interested in me. Even though we’d worked together for a month, Hemi hadn’t bothered to tell me he was engaged, though no one else in town had seemed to know either.

However, these events didn’t matter. When summer was over, I had one more year at the University of Northern Indiana, and then I was planning to be a newspaper reporter in a city far, far away.

Although Wildcat Springs wasn’t nearly as boring as I’d once believed, I didn’t have the time or inclination for romantic entanglements when I needed to finish college and begin my career.

Kurt slid my glass across the bar. What about Duke Talbert?

What about him? Edsel Duke Talbert was a handsome investigative journalist and ufologist I’d met recently.

Kurt’s icy blue eyes twinkled as he looked at Misty. Did she tell you about the passionate kiss he laid on her when they were in here together?

No! She gave my arm a playful slap. How could you keep that from me?

I felt my face grow warm. I told you Duke was a player.

For a writer, you aren’t very descriptive. Misty huffed. How was I supposed to know ‘player’ is code for passionate kisser?

Kurt laughed as he walked away to help another customer.

So how was it? she asked.

How was what?

The kiss! Misty shrieked at the exact moment Pour Some Sugar on Me ended.

Everyone, including Hemi, looked at us.

Shrugging away my embarrassment, I waved. Good evening, Wildcat Springs. If you’re wondering, the kiss . . . was fantastic, I shouted. Now, the show’s over, so as you were.

A few people chuckled as they resumed their conversations. However, Hemi stood and headed straight for us. Leslie must’ve been in the restroom because she was nowhere in sight.

Hemi’s coming, Misty whispered.

I’m not blind.

Play it cool.

I don’t need to play anything, I hissed. He’s my friend. Or . . . that’s how we left it.

Hemi, who was built like a string bean, often wore heinous bow ties when he worked in his mom’s bookstore, but tonight he looked like a normal twenty-something in a navy polo, khaki shorts, and boat shoes. Several people had told me they thought he resembled Matt Dillon, and even I, a longtime fan, had to agree.

Sounds like you girls are having a good time. Hemi smiled and leaned against the bar.

Another wild Friday night in Wildcat Springs, I said.

Who’s the lucky guy?

Subtle, Hemingway. Very subtle.

I wasn’t trying to be.

Why do you care?

Misty elbowed me. It was Duke. She waggled her eyebrows at Hemi.

Really, he said. Are you dating him?

We haven’t defined anything. The truth was, I hadn’t heard from Duke in several days, which was fine, but Hemi didn’t need to know that.

He seems like a ladies’ man, so don’t let him break your heart.

Thanks for the advice.

Misty hopped off her stool and stuck out her hand as Leslie approached. I’m Misty Ambrose.

Leslie Enright. She looked back and forth between Misty and me.

Leslie was wearing a fitted black T-shirt BeDazzled with teal and pink rhinestones, and she gave me a sideways glance before grasping Hemi’s arm.

Leslie just moved to Wildcat Springs, Hemi said. She’s living with my mother until we get married next year.

Last I knew she’d been working at a summer camp. Had she moved to keep a closer eye on her man? Whatever the reason, living with Amanda Miller would be a nightmare. I’ll pray for you, Leslie.

Leslie squinted at me as if she had no idea what I meant, and Hemi’s jaw ticked.

Are you working at the bookstore? Misty asked.

No, I’ll be teaching third grade at the elementary school this fall, Leslie said. This summer, I’m substituting for the aerobics instructor at the community center.

You and Misty should take a class. Hemi looked at me.

I cringed. I don’t know if—

"That would be sooo much fun, wouldn’t it? Misty clasped her hands. I have the cutest leotard with matching scrunchie socks, because I meant to take a class last year and never got around to it."

There’s a class tomorrow morning at ten, Leslie said.

Perfect. Bobbi Sue and I will be there.

Great. See you then. Leslie issued a smile that could only be described as forced, clasped Hemi’s hand, and led him back to their booth.

Wow, Misty said. That was interesting.

I can’t believe you roped me into aerobics.

Why? You played softball in high school, so it’s not like you don’t have athletic ability.

That’s not it, I muttered. I’d rather not take a class Hemi’s fiancée is teaching.

I thought you don’t have feelings for him.

I don’t.

Then it shouldn’t matter.

I stood and threw some money onto the counter. See you tomorrow.

Don’t be mad, Misty said.

I’m not. I’m tired. I’d stayed up late the night before writing a freelance article for Hoosier magazine, and I’d waited tables at Chuckie’s Chicken for most of the day. After losing my bookstore job, it’d been the best replacement I could find.

I’m sorry for volunteering you. She stuck out her lip. You could write an article about taking your first aerobics class to encourage more women to try.

That’s not a bad idea.

She beamed. See? I have—

I told you to stay away from us! A woman’s shrill voice reverberated through the bar.

I whipped around and saw Leslie staring down Jennifer Coulter. Since they were both so petite, they looked like two chihuahuas about to nip each other in a fight.

You’re crazy. Jennifer held up both hands. "All I did was say hello."

You did a lot more than that, and we both know it, Leslie spat out.

Misty and I exchanged glances. Jennifer was a pretty brunette, and her miniskirt displayed her toned legs. Had she captivated Hemi’s attention?

I could just see the headline now: Fight Over Bachelor Bookstore Owner Leads to Barroom Brawl.

Forget it. Jennifer shook her head. Hemi, I wish you luck. You’re gonna need it. She stormed toward the ladies’ room.

"What was that about?" I muttered.

I don’t know, Misty whispered, but Hemi dated Jennifer in high school.

Now that you mention it, I remember, but there must be a lot more going on. It’d be stupid for her to get upset about running into his high school girlfriend. Had Leslie moved to Wildcat Springs because she’d been worried about Jennifer stealing Hemi? Do you know who broke it off?

Hemi. I only remember because I heard Jennifer was suicidal, but that could’ve been a rumor.

I hope so, I said. And to think, Hemi accused Duke of being a player when he’s a heartbreaker himself. I rolled my eyes as I left the bar and crossed Pearl Street.

The evening was still warm, and I strolled through the public parking lot toward my parents’ tan LeSabre that I’d driven to town. My Escort had four flat tires that I’d yet to replace—due to my lack of funds.

Bobbi Sue, wait! Jennifer Coulter waved and jogged over to me with her permed hair bouncing.

Why’d she want to talk to me? I didn’t know her well, though she’d been on the high school cross-country team with my sister Rochelle.

Are you okay? I asked. I saw what happened in there.

Yeah. She tugged her T-shirt hem. I called Hemi earlier this week because I wanted to catch up. I had no idea he was engaged.

A lot of people are just finding out.

I made the mistake of leaving a message on his answering machine asking him to dinner. Apparently, his fiancée heard. Talk about insecure. She gazed toward the stream of cars passing through town. Anyway, how’s your sister?

Married to Jason McKeever. Pregnant. Happy.

That’s great. Wistfulness flickered in her green eyes. I wish I could find the right guy, you know?

I didn’t know what to say, since she’d obviously hoped to rekindle a romance with Hemi. Where are you working?

I was a live-in caretaker for Della Jones-Nash, but she died.

I heard. I’m sorry.

Jennifer pointed at the brick building next to us. I work at the library now.

I’ve always thought being a librarian would be fun.

It pays the bills. She shoved her hands into her pockets. Tell Rochelle I said hi.

Give her a call some time. I bet she’d like to catch up.

Will do. She fidgeted with her keys.

You know, if you wanted to get under Leslie’s skin, she’s teaching an aerobics class tomorrow morning at the community center, I said. Misty Ambrose and I are going, and you’re welcome to join us.

I might just do that. Jennifer unlocked her blue, rust-spotted Cutlass. Take care, Bobbi Sue.

To get to my parents’ house, I had to drive through Wildcat Woods on a winding, pothole dotted road. Even though I’d lived in the sprawling stone house since I was ten, traveling through the woods alone at night always set me on edge, particularly after recent events.

I retrieved a stack of letters from the mailbox and zipped up the tree-lined driveway. Keeping an awareness of my surroundings, I parked the car in the garage and hurried into the house, where I flicked on as many lights as possible.

Nita, my gray tabby, emerged from the hallway and slinked around my legs while I sorted the mail.

No letter or postcard from my parents.

I tossed the bills on the growing stack on the counter and jabbed Play on the answering machine.

Nicki, I haven’t heard from any of you since I got back from my cruise, and Judy Beeson told me you went on a vacation. Grandma Spearman’s voice reverberated through the kitchen. "I can’t believe you’d leave town without telling your aging mother. She even told me Bobbi Sue was caught up in a murder investigation. She heaved a sigh. Give me a call when you’re not too busy with more important things than me. You don’t understand how embarrassing it is for an old woman not to know what’s happening with her own family."

Isadora Spearman had a master’s degree in guilt studies.

I collapsed onto the couch.

Recently, my dad’s friend Ross had been shot dead at an inn my dad’s construction company had been renovating. Then, my parents had left behind their IDs and credit cards and vanished.

My sister and I thought they’d fled because Dad feared being falsely accused of killing Ross. Years ago, Dad had spent time in prison after a drug lord set him up for his business partner’s murder. Eventually, our family friend and reporter Juanita St. James cleared Dad’s name.

After I’d helped identify Ross’s killer, Rochelle and I had hoped Mom and Dad would come home. But now, I’d have the awful job of explaining to Grandma that my parents weren’t on a romantic getaway—they were on the run.

CHAPTER 2

The Wildcat Springs Community Center was in the old elementary school on the south edge of town. After consolidation, the three-story brick building had been closed until about five years ago when the town council decided it’d make a good gathering place. The budget for reopening the building had been scanty, so the council had focused on cleaning and necessary repairs.

I’d always been grateful I hadn’t attended school there. After we’d moved to Wildcat Springs, I’d told my parents I thought the building looked haunted. Instead of disagreeing, my normally sensible mom regaled me with the story of how years earlier, a fifth-grade teacher had jilted the custodian and found him dead, hanging from her classroom ceiling. Since then, many people were convinced the custodian’s ghost haunted the building.

I found a parking space near the entrance in the back of the building and searched for Misty’s Firebird. She wasn’t there, so I shut off the car, rolled down the windows, and waited for backup. I wasn’t afraid to enter, but I wasn’t ready to be responsible for what might come flying out of my mouth if Leslie confronted me about my friendship with Hemi.

Jennifer Coulter’s rusty Cutlass was parked across the lot in the shade. Women wearing colorful leotards with coordinating tights arrived and hurried inside. With a shrug, I glanced at my sweatpants and Michael Jackson T-shirt that were the best I could do on short notice.

Oh well. I wasn’t trying to impress anyone.

A dog’s woof caught my attention. A shaggy brown terrier stood poised at attention behind a chain link fence in the yard next to the community center. What’d the dog see?

Then, the dog yipped again as a slim, ski-masked figure dressed in black darted into the bushes near the basketball court. The figure sprinted back toward town while the dog yapped and howled.

I jumped